


I Just Love Your

by SQ (proteinscollide)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crack, M/M, Prostitution, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-09
Updated: 2008-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/pseuds/SQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete like brains. And Patrick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just Love Your

In hindsight, Patrick realises, he really shouldn’t have listened to Brendon on where to pick up the best hookers. Office gossip about Brendon was rife –

“I heard he still lives in the apartment above his parent’s garage.”

“I heard he has six toes on one foot.”

“I heard he’s a serial killer on parole!”

“I heard he kills feral rabbits with one hand, drains all the blood into Tupperware containers, and drinks a pint every night.”

\- but Patrick’s a nice guy, he doesn’t listen to shit like that. Sure, Brendon’s unnaturally pale with a sharp pointy face, and he keeps peering over his shoulder like he’s being hunted, but it isn’t like Joe over in IT is any better, and Patrick knows that just a combination of too much pot and enough teenage years spent bent over a computer console watching porn on the sly. He’d shrugged it off as an occupational hazard, and every few days he stops by Brendon’s desk to eat lunch together (BLT sandwiches, nothing weird) and watch the dumbest videos on YouTube that they’d found that morning instead of compiling spreadsheets on the price of avocadoes in New Zealand.

Now though, caught in the unnerving stare of the prettiest rentboy he’s ever seen or even dreamed of, he’s not so sure if this was a wise idea. It’d been an impulse, really, the thought of it fresh from a comment Brendon had dropped lightly at lunch while they were talking about the weirdest porn they’d ever seen – “Furries, oh my god, furry _fisting_ ” “That’s nothing, let me show you *this*” – and Patrick told himself it was just a different route home, but he swung by the corner Brendon had mentioned and slowed down to a cruise.

Pete, the boy said slowly, as if remembering his own name from a distant past, when Patrick asks his name once he climbs into the car, all legs in white denim and fuck me boots, and miles of tattooed skin. Patrick doubts this is his real name – he looks almost too exotic to be a Peter, the name of every second boy in his class at school – but he likes the way it rolls off his tongue, likes the incongruity. Pete directs him, with light touches to his shoulder, to a shadowy side street two blocks away, but even after Patrick switches off the engine, and fumbles through his wallet for the cash, Pete doesn’t make a move, but chooses to sit angled towards Patrick, watching and waiting with an intense gaze.

“So, um, what do you like?” Patrick’s aware, somewhere inside his brain that’s not currently attached to his dick, that this was probably something that the hooker usually asks the john, and not the other way around, but oh god, the way Pete is looking at him, silent and considering and longing, makes him really nervous.

“You?” Pete says suddenly, voice rising at the end of the word. He keeps his eyes trained on Patrick, taking in every part of him with hungry, hungry eyes. Patrick shivers, and feels himself get harder. God, it’d been so long since anyone had looked at him with so much desire, and even if he was paying for it now, at least Pete seems a damn good actor and thus worth the money.

Pete shifts quickly across the space between them and his mouth ends up just left of Patrick’s, warm air ghosting across his cheek. “I want to know what you taste like,” he breathes against Patrick’s skin, and Patrick twitches and brings his hand up, sliding along the smooth skin of Pete’s neck, leaning into the kiss. Pete kisses like he stares, desperate and wanting, and Patrick dying from how good this feels, Pete’s tongue in his mouth, one hand undoing the buttons of his shirt and stripping it away. And then Pete’s moving across Patrick’s skin, dropping light kisses along the jawline and up, kisses turning into a light nibbling that makes Patrick giggle from the sensation. Pete nips the lobes of his ear and down his neck in continuous contact with Patrick’s skin, sucking and biting lightly as he goes. Patrick’s never really been into this, but it feels okay, and Pete’s really into it, if the bulge in his tight jeans is any indication, so he lets Pete make his way down his body and only shifts in slight alarm when Pete bites gently on a stretch of skin low on his stomach.

“Hey, be careful,” Patrick says, as lightly as he can, and Pete looks up, eyes dark and serious, his hands petting the exposed skin at the top of Patrick’s thighs where his pants have been pulled low, as if soothing a scared animal. Patrick stills, and shivers again at the look in Pete’s eyes, the force of need behind them, then moans as Pete ducks his head down and takes Patrick’s cock into his mouth without warning, all warmth and slippery-lipped.

“Fuck,” Patrick groans, as Pete bobs up and down upon him in smooth jerks. His head is smushed against the glass, his hands braced against the door and the back of his seat, and he wants to buck his hips up, further, into Pete’s mouth but there’s no room, there’s no space, and it’s lucky he can’t last much longer because all his muscles are screaming from the awkward positioning, and Patrick never wants this to stop, ever. He can feel the tension in soles of his feet, as he strains towards the release, and he pushes at Pete’s shoulder and gasps, “I’m coming, you can - ”

Pete just clamps his lips tighter around Patrick, one hand against the base, and Patrick comes, his stomach tenses then relaxes, and Pete is swallowing him whole.

“You taste so good.” Pete says afterwards, thickly, like his tongue isn’t used to sounding out the words. He’s lying across the width of the car, head pillowed on Patrick’s thighs, tucked up and small with his knees curved into his body.

Patrick blushes a fiery red and stutters, “Thanks, I think.” And then, because Pete’s still somehow unnerving enough to make him babble, “Is there ever a proper response to that particular compliment? I mean, you must say that a lot in your, um, line of work, what do people normally say?” Inner Patrick is hitting his head against a wall in despair, because what kind of post-coital talk is that?

Pete says, “Oh, I don’t tell everyone that. It’s not true all the time, you know.” He snuggles closer, face turned into Patrick’s tummy, one hand stroking his side. “I’m really glad you stopped for me.”

Patrick laughs, short and bitter. “You don’t have to be so nice about it, I know I’m no great prize.” Pete sits up, and his face is suddenly inches from Patrick’s, their breathing loud, almost in harmony and syncopated rhythm. Patrick mumbles, “This is the first time I’ve been laid in a year. People are just more into beauty than brains, you know.” He casts a look over Pete, shakes his head and says, “What would you know.”

“I like brains,” Pete says wistfully. He plants a sweet kiss on Patrick’s mouth, chaste, ending with a little bite of Patrick’s top lip. “I like you.”

A longer kiss this time, and they’re off again, and Patrick hasn’t made out with anyone like this since forever. Pete’s sucking at his neck, then biting hard enough to make Patrick wince, but he has his hands on Pete’s ass, and Pete is grinding against him, so he can hardly bring himself to complain. There’s a vibrating by his hip though, and it takes a few moment to cut through the fog of lust, but he realises just in time to pick up the phone and pant, “What? Oh fuck, now?”

“Work emergency,” he explains to Pete as he weaves his way back to Pete’s corner in the dark, “I really wish - ”

“You’ll come and find me again soon, right?” Pete asks anxiously, “I didn’t – you - ” He grabs Patrick by the chin for one more kiss, before tumbling out onto the footpath. It’s weird, but Patrick could swear the boy is sulking, as if denied some great treat.

When Patrick slinks into the office, some twenty minutes after all the other worker drones, Gabe his manager takes one look at him and yells, “Shit, Stump, that’s some hickey on your neck. Did we call you in at a bad time?”

Everyone turns to look at him then, and Patrick flushes and clasps his hand to his neck, over the bite. It still feels heated, and when he takes his hand away, there’s a speck of blood on his palm, and he realises Pete broke skin. When he looks up, Brendon is right there before him, looking at it with interest.

“You took my advice from lunch, didn’t you?” He grins widely, and slaps Patrick on the back. “There’s some interesting people down there.” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are still glued to the spot on Patrick’s neck. Brendon licks his lips, and Patrick notices, for the first time, how pointy Brendon’s little teeth really are.

END


End file.
